


The Band Laura

by Red_City



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Awkward Flirting, Boys In Love, Character Death, F/F, F/M, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Multi, Musicians, No Fire, No Kate, band au, canonical cahracter death, songwriter!derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-07-15 11:23:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16062095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_City/pseuds/Red_City
Summary: [before]It had started with a microphone.Laura, 8 years old, was obsessed with singing. She had commandeered every hairbrush and stirring spoon in the house, wailing into them every chance she got. She had no specific genre; jazz, rock, pop, country - anything.Derek was 5, and often cast as her drummer, trailing behind Laura with pots and pans and buckets, banging away, mostly on beat.-------------[after]Derek swallowed. He had been worried about this. But then Cora’s hand was resting on his thigh and Erica’s boot was pressed up against his under the table, and it was okay.He took a deep breath and looked over at Cora. She nodded slightly. He turned back to the mic.“We’re The Band Laura.”





	1. What a Great Start to their Comeback Tour

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to wait and post this as a completed fic, but I'm weak. Maybe your love with help me get past writers block. Enjoy! More to come!

It had started with a microphone. 

Laura, 8 years old, was obsessed with singing. She had commandeered every hairbrush and stirring spoon in the house, wailing into them every chance she got. She had no specific genre; jazz, rock, pop, country - anything. 

Derek was 5, and often cast as her drummer, trailing behind Laura with pots and pans and buckets, banging away, mostly on beat.

Christmas morning revealed a microphone - an actual, quality microphone with cable and amp - for Laura, who promptly burst into tears and clung to the packaging. Derek got a pair of real drum sticks, Cora, 3, got colorful shaker eggs, and little Ben got a dinosaur plush toy to drool on. 

So it had started with a microphone. 

 

And it had ended with a car crash.

 

\--------  
\-----

 

_[present]_

“For the love of God, Cora, stop it!” Derek growled. 

Cora shot him a glare, stuck out her tongue, and tapped her pen on the edge of the chair even louder. Curse of the drummer, their mother had called it. Before. Derek had yielded the drumsticks to his younger sister in middle school, and took up guitar instead. The tips of his fingers were calloused and smooth now, and he mimed chord shapes in the air along with the radio. The music was in their blood - Talia Lamaine had been an opera singer and Bobby Hale had been her accompanist. Derek could remember late nights listening to his parents practice, getting distracted every so often by an argument or loud laughter, echoing through the house. 

Derek and Cora were waiting in the lobby of a radio station, about to go on air about their return to the touring circuit. Erica, Isaac and Boyd were late - as they usually were when Erica was driving. Derek glanced at his phone for the hundredth time, checking for texts. There were none. He sighed. 

“Oh, cut it, Derek. If you didn’t want to be here you could have said no,” Cora said, tossing her bangs out of her face. Derek snorted. _As if._ The interview had been Erica and Isaac’s plan, and Erica had convinced him by using words like ‘original trio’ and ‘pack leader’ and ‘it would mean SO much’ and Derek _couldn’t_ say no - he hadn’t been able to say no to Erica for a long time. 

Speaking of Erica, she chose that moment to sweep into the lobby, dressed in tight leather, Boyd and Isaac right behind, all three in matching aviator sunglasses. Cora sometimes referred to them as the T-Birds. Erica called the three of them the Beta trio, but that was only because she said the Alpha trio was Derek, Cora, and -

“Sorry we’re late, babe,” Isaac said, sliding into Cora’s lap. She pretended to glare at him, but wrapped her arms around him anyway, not even complaining about his bony ass. Derek knew about the bony ass - for some reason, all of his friends liked to drape themselves all over them. He was a pillow, a chair, a table - whatever. Erica had told him once that it was because he was so fluffy, and Cora still called him that when she was annoyed. Derek pretended he didn’t like the physical affection and nobody called him on it. 

 

They hadn’t been interviewed in in a really long time, hadn’t done anything to publicize their group in years - hadn’t even been really been a group until about six months ago. Derek, Cora and Erica had been too busy trying to piece their lives together in the wake of tragedy to worry about the band, or whether they were going to continue, or if they even still wanted to. The three of them hadn’t been the driving force behind the original band, just hanging on for the ride. Now they HAD to be if they were going to keep playing and touring and trying to make music as a living, and it had been so much more difficult to start up again than it had been to start in the first place. 

“They’re ready for you,” a guy in a headset called out of the room next door, and Derek stood, rolling his neck. Erica stripped off her leather jacket, Boyd and Isaac following suit, but the boys made it look far less like obscene. Erica grinned at Derek when she caught him glaring. Cora and Isaac walked into the studio hand in hand, Boyd after them, then Erica, walking backwards so she could grin obnoxiously at Derek. He just walked forward, schooling his face into a blank stare, not rising to the bait. Erica had always been like a kid sister to him, so different from Cora and himself - she loved the attention, liked causing trouble, and was generally hard to ignore. Derek had never been able to shake her, not that he wanted to anymore, and it was harder than he’d like to admit to not grin back at the ridiculous faces she was making at him. She straightened up, triumphant, like she knew it. 

The five of them were ushered into plush seats at a curved table with hanging microphones in front of each chair, given headphones, and the radio show host greeted them. Derek couldn’t remember her name, or even the station they were at, but it didn’t really matter to him. Erica began answering questions without hesitation, like always, and Derek hoped that this was another event that he would be able to get by without speaking a word. It had happened before, and his reputation as the introverted, gruff member of the band had helped with his avoidance of answering questions. He never felt like he spoke well, and was usually never expected to, other people always filling in the blanks. It was different this time, though. He was the leader of the band, in a way - the eldest, the most experienced, now that - 

“And Derek, we’re so glad to have you on the show today, we know it’s been a long journey for you guys, especially you and Cora. Erica has labeled you as the leader -”

“Alpha,” Erica interrupted, and the host faked a laugh. Derek rolled his eyes.

“Yes, the ‘alpha’ of the group. Do you consider yourself the leader now?”

Derek swallowed. He had been worried about this. But then Cora’s hand was resting on his thigh and Erica’s boot was pressed up against his under the table, and it was okay. 

“I suppose I have taken on that role. I have the most experience among the members now, and I was one of the original members, even before Cora joined us when she graduated.”

“And do you think the band will be continuing on it’s previous path towards folk-rock? You are the main writer for the group, correct? Do you feel new lead singer means a new feel for the band?”

Derek eyed Erica, who was looking just as interested in his answer as the host. 

“I think we’ll keep some of our roots, but Erica, Boyd and Isaac have new ideas that have so far been easy to incorporate. I’m not worried about merging out sounds.”

“Are you wanting to stick to your original sound from a purely musical standpoint? Is there some sentimentality or tribute to what you’ve lost in there anywhere?”

“Well, as you and our fans know, Halefire was more of a folk rock group - and with the new members it has naturally evolved to more punk rock - some older fans might not like the new sound, but that’s the way we sound now. And actually, that is the perfect segue for the announcement we’ve been meaning to make.” Derek shifted in his chair and could feel the others around him tense. They knew what was coming, but it was still a monumental kind of thing. There had been many, many long discussions about this in the months previous - arguments, yelling, tears - but Derek and Cora had finally agreed. Erica had been unusually passive about the change, and Isaac and Boyd, being the newest members, didn’t care either way. 

“Oh?” The host raised her eyebrows. Erica’s hand tightened on Derek’s leg. 

“We’ll be changing the name of the band - with the new members, a new sound, and with everything that’s happened, we wanted to start new. We hope the fans of Halefire will understand, and we hope that our following will continue on with us and our new name and new sound.”

 

“This is big news, and I’m honored you chose Kim Kelly’s morning broadcast to announce it. What is the new name?”

Derek took a deep breath and looked over at Cora. She nodded slightly. Derek turned back to the mic.

“We’re The Band Laura.”

 

\-------  
\----

 

_[before]_

“What were you just playing?!” Laura demanded, shortly after bursting into his room and scaring him half to death. Derek’s guitar was in his lap, notebook open on the bed beside him, pen between his lips as he glared at his older sister. 

“What the hell, Laura, have you ever heard of knocking?”

Laura spotted the notebook and grabbed it before Derek had a chance to close it. 

“Larua! Come on!” He said, laying the guitar gently on the bed and then standing up, grabbing at the book. Laura was reading over the lines he had just scribbled, half-written thoughts stupid things about love and she was totally gonna make fun of him for it forever. 

“Derek, what is this?” Laura asked, turning to him. Derek took the opportunity to snatch the notebook back, but the damage had been done. 

“It’s nothing. A song.”

“Did you write that?”

“Maybe.”

“Show me,” Laura demanded, plopped right down on the floor in front of him. Derek looked at her, raising an eyebrow skeptically, but when she only stared back at him expectantly, he sighed and sat back on the edge of the bed, bringing the guitar back into his lap. He laid the notebook out again, shuffling until he found the right page, and cleared his throat. Laura was still watching him, and he was suddenly nervous. 

“I just - I literally just wrote this, so I don’t - don’t make fun of me.”

“Okay, come on.”

Derek coughed, straightened his back and began to strum. 

__  
Did you stand there all alone?  
Oh I cannot explain what's going down  
I can see you standing next to me  
In and out, somewhere else right now  
You sigh, look away  
Hmm - something something  
Close your eyes, so afraid  
Hide behind that baby face

Derek looked up at Laura during the next part, because he didn’t have any words for it, and she seemed to be smiling. He took that as a good sign and started in on the chorus.  
__  
You can drive all night  
Looking for the answers in the pouring rain  
You wanna find peace of mind  
Looking for the answer  


Laura began tapping on the hardwood floor, and Derek’s foot tapped along with her. When he finished the song, he hesitantly looked over at his sister, who was now staring at the floor. 

“There are some lyrics I - I’m not sure I like, yet, and I don’t have words for that middle part, and it’s hard to concentrate on the guitar and sing at the same time, so - “

“Can you teach me the lyrics? So maybe I can sing it with you?”

Derek couldn’t hide his surprise. Their shared musical interest intersected pretty rarely for siblings. They liked their own styles of music and only played together when coerced. 

“Uh, yeah, sure, um. It’s pretty simple, actually, I - here, come up here so you can see the words.”

And Derek taught Laura the lyrics and melody line, both leaned over his notebook on his bed, the guitar pressed against him and Laura’s hair tickling his nose. That’s how it really started. 

 

\-------  
\----

 

_[present]_

Derek pushed his guitar away from him, hard enough that the body bumped against the wall next to his bunk. He barely glanced at it; it was just his old acoustic, beat to hell and scratched all over. The guitars he used for shows and recordings were all in their padded cases in the other van. They were doing a sort-of mini tour with the new band name, re-launching their sound with some of their old songs and a few new ones. Derek hadn’t been able to write nearly as much as he had been before the crash, but he’d been able to force a few decent ones out of himself in the last few years. Cora had helped him a little, as had Erica - and Boyd had a surprising talent for poetic rhymes. Derek hadn’t exactly been comfortable sharing the writing process with someone he didn’t know all that well, but it had turned out better than he could have hoped. Halefire’s transformation into The Band Laura had been smoother than any of them had anticipated. 

It still ached in his chest when he thought about it, still made the air in the room thin and hard to breathe. He had been absolutely against continuing on with the band, not seeing the point anymore, but his little sisters had been adamant and passionate about it, so much so that he had started to believe in the music again too. And maybe believe that it’s what Laura would have wanted. 

He had been loathe to admit they needed more members too, but when Erica showed up with two boys she’d met from school that could play 6 instruments between them, and sing to boot, Derek had begrudgingly allowed them to audition. He had been resolute about not adding them, and was definitely unseemly towards both of them for months, but after a while he’d had to come to terms with the band’s reality, and the boys easily slid into the fold. 

Isaac was most often playing bass, sometimes guitar, and did vocals with Erica and Cora. Boyd liked the keyboard but could also play guitar and trumpet. Erica was their lead singer, Cora was the drummer, singing backup, and Derek was on the guitar, only singing when he really had to. Isaac had learned all of the parts Derek had used to sing and did them now, which Derek liked and Erica tolerated. 

Derek was the songwriter, always had been. 

There was an odd song or two, a line here or there, that Cora had written, and now Boyd had done quite a bit of the lyrics, Erica sometimes had some cool ideas - but Derek had the drive for writing. He wrote songs like other people kept journals - like he couldn’t stop.

The only time he HAD stopped writing since he’d discovered the talent in high school was the crash. The crash had stopped everything. 

It had been years. Three years, four months, eleven days. Derek felt like he should be _better_ by now. He was angry at himself, frustrated with his continual writer’s block, and mad at his hands and stupid guitar for just not producing melodies like they used to. It had been so easy, before. And now? Nothing was. 

There was a knock outside his bunk. 

“What?” He snapped.

The curtain slid open a few inches,, and Erica’s grin appeared in the dim light of the walkway. 

“Hey, sourpuss, we’ve arrived! Come help us unload!”

“Isn’t that the reason we hire roadies?” Derek grumbled. 

“Oh yeah, like you’d ever let anyone touch your precious performance guitars. AND, you know we’re on a tight budget right now, we could only get one or two guys. Come oooonnnn, Der-bear.”

Derek flinched at the nickname, and Erica made a hurt noise, kneeling next to the bed and placing a timid hand on his arm. He sighed, shaking his head slightly and grabbing her hand.

“Sorry,” she whispered. 

Derek leaned up and just pressed his face into the top of Erica’s hair in an almost-kiss, saying nothing. There weren’t many that Derek allowed this close to him, and Erica was one of the rare few. The number had been cut down dramatically since - 

“Let’s go, let’s go,” she said, sliding open the curtain all the way and running to the front of the bus. Derek felt himself smile. Another rare occurrence. 

\--

He hadn’t met the two guys they had hired for this tour to help them with equipment and stuff, and he didn’t really care to. Lydia, their on-and-off again stage manager, greeted him with a clipboard and pointed him stage right, and then immediately started yelling at someone behind him. He liked Lydia - she was prompt, organized, and didn’t bother with small talk. They had gotten to know each other fairly well while on previous tours; lots of late nights riding the tour bus, but it’d been years since he’d seen her. Her presence made him relax immensely and he was almost annoyed by the fondness bubbling up in his chest at her no-nonsense direction. 

Deaton, their long-time sound guy and family friend, was probably already up in the sound booth, along with some new assistant Lydia had hired along with the two roadies. Derek hadn’t spared any of the newbies a second thought until couldn’t find his performance guitars in the truck. They just weren’t there - and anyone who was in the band or had been with the band had to KNOW that nobody fucking touched Derek’s guitars. No. 

So Derek stormed into the venue, furious, ready to rip whoever had moved his equipment to shreds. 

“Who fucking moved my guitars,” he growled at Isaac in passing, who shrugged and smirked at him. 

“Probably one of the new guys.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill them.”

“Can I watch?”

Derek didn’t deign to answer him, just angrily strutted past him onto the stage. 

Cora was setting up her drum kit with a guy Derek’s didn’t recognize, crooked jaw and a huge smile on his face. Derek disliked him on sight. But to the right of the kit, in Derek and Isaac’s usual half of the stage, was another guy carefully placing Derek’s beloved Martin acoustic on his guitar rack. Out of order, of fucking course. He was slender and had brown hair and was wearing a fucking purple plaid shirt and high top chucks and looked like an asshole from the back. Derek was gonna kill him.

Derek strode up behind the guy and cleared his throat violently. When the guy didn’t turn around, Derek kicked the back of his shoe and said, “What the fuck you do you think you’re doing?”

He didn’t expect the guy to just fall over, practically braining himself on the guitar case to his left. He was lucky he didn’t fall forward into the rack of guitars, because then Derek would have really murdered him. 

“What the FUCK, man?!” The guy shouted, and as he scrambled to his feet, turning to glare at Derek. “What do you think YOU’RE doing?? Do you normally knock people off their feet when they are handling precious musical equipment that - if I had dropped - would at the very least lead to me definitely being fired and more likely shot on sight? Jesus Christ, man, have some respect for the instruments!”

“Respect for the INSTRUMENTS?” Derek asked, incredulous. He had been taken off guard, at first, by the kid who had started yelling immediately and seemed to have a great respect for the guitar he’d been handling, but then he’d assumed that Derek didn’t fucking have the same respect, which. Hello. 

“You do know those fucking guitars belong to Derek Hale, right?,” Derek growled out. “And anyone who has ever even HEARD of him knows not to fucking touch them, right? It is WRITTEN ON THE GODDAMN CASES. IN MULTIPLE LANGUAGES. Do not FUCKING TOUCH THESE GUITARS unless you are DEREK HALE HIMSELF.”

“Well if Mr, Almighty Hale had graced us with his presence when we started setting up for the show, which, by the way, is in less than two hours, then I wouldn’t have had to set up the damn guitars FOR him so the rest of the set-up could go smoothly. Kind of hard to set lights and mics without knowing where the great Derek Hale is standing, isn’t it? Where do you get off, man? Who the fuck are you anyway, Hale’s personal security?”

“Who the fuck are you?! You look like you can’t even legally get into a bar! You already almost died setting up a GUITAR, you’re walking health hazard! Who the fuck let you on stage?!”

“Boys,” came a soft, but nonetheless demanding voice. Both turned to see Lydia, arms crossed, headset mic just in front of her pursed lips. 

“If you can stop yelling at each other for about 20 seconds, I’ll make the introductions. This is Stiles, one of the new stage hands I hired. He’s been a friend of mine since high school, and while he wasn’t supposed to touch the guitars because of your INSANE paranoia,” Lydia glared at Derek, “do you seriously think I would hire anyone that would fuck with your guitars? Come on. He has a huge respect for musicians and their instruments and will not fuck anything up. Right?” She then glared at Stiles, who rolled his eyes at her before nervously glancing at Derek. 

“And Stiles, THIS is Derek Hale. Or Mr. Almighty Hale, whichever you prefer to call him. Listen to him about his guitars because they are HIS GUITARS, and when you’re done, I need you to start pulling stands from the truck. The list in is on the inside wall. Okay? Okay. You guys can go back to screaming at each other or whatever.”

Lydia turned on her heel and started barking orders at Scott, who had stopped to watch the argument between Derek and Stiles. Actually, it seemed that everyone in the general vicinity had stopped to watch, and were one by one snapped back into action by their fiery stage manager.

Derek was glaring at Stiles, who shuffled his feet and coughed awkwardly. 

“So should I -” He started reaching back for Derek’s guitar to move it again. 

“NO,” Derek said through gritted teeth. “No. I will do it.”

“Sure man, whatever,” Stiles said, stepping over the guitar case and passing Derek to head for the truck. Derek angrily rearranged the guitars the way he always had them, and then started at the stand for a minute before angrily switching the order back to the way Stiles had had them in. Because it made SENSE, okay? He could have thought of that order too. It wasn’t because he felt bad for yelling. Or that the guy was really attractive. That had absolutely nothing to do with it, it was just - it was just nothing. 

What a great start to their comeback tour. 

\-------  
\----

_[after]_

“Derek, please -”

“No. Fuck you,” Derek slurred, an almost-empty bottle of vodka hanging from his fingers. He was drinking it straight because it tasted like shit and burned down his throat, and he wanted it to. 

It had been three months since the crash, and about a month since Derek started blackout drinking every night to make the nightmares and guilt leave him alone. It wasn’t helping as much as he would have liked, but he’d rather have a hangover than remember what had happened. What had happened to his family. 

“You need to stop doing this.”

Derek looked up at Erica, who was standing in his doorway, arms crossed, looking somewhere between angry and worried. It was a constant state for her these days. It - it reminded him of Laura, and he HATED it. 

“I can do whatever I want, Laura. Fuck off.”

Erica inhaled sharply, but Derek didn’t even notice the slip. 

“Derek. This isn’t - this isn’t good for you. They wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself.”

“Well it’s a good thing they’re all dead, then, because it doesn’t matter what they want anymore.”

_”Derek,_ please.”

“No, Erica!” He yelled, standing up, suddenly furious. Angry at Erica, angry at _them,_ angry to be alive without them. “Stop! Stop trying to help me, or whatever the fuck you think you’re doing, because it won’t work! It’s never going to get better, because they’re never coming back, and it’s - it’s -” He paused, frustrated and on the verge of tears. Erica placed a hand on his arm, and he hadn’t even noticed her approach. He wrenched away from her, almost dropping the bottle. 

“Why do you even _care,_ Erica, it’s not like you were really their daughter.” 

The silence following made Derek glance back at Erica, who had sunk down to the floor, crouching with her hands wrapped around her knees, hair falling in front of her face. She was silent but he could tell she was crying. 

He set the bottle down and dropped to his knees beside her, regretting his very being for saying something like that to - to his little sister. She may not have Hale blood but she was a Hale in every way that mattered and had been since she was twelve. 

He wrapped himself around her, rocking them both back and forth on the floor, pulling his fingers through her hair as he softly said sorry, over and over, under his breath until she covered his mouth with her hands and told him to shut up already. They sat there together for nearly an hour, silently mourning and clinging to each other. 

Derek stopped drinking after that. 

 

\------

_[present]_

Derek managed to completely avoid Stiles for a week, but he didn’t miss the smirk Stiles shot him when the roadie realized that Derek had kept his guitars in Stiles’ order for the next three shows. Lydia had given him lots of _looks_ and Derek wasn’t letting it bother him. Mostly. 

Derek, of course, couldn’t escape forever. 

“We’ve got a - situation.”

Derek looked up sharply at Lydia, who was standing, hands on hips, in the doorway of the green room. 

“What,” he ground out. 

“This is a smaller venue, so it doesn’t have as many inputs as we’re used to. We have to cut three in order for this to work.”

“THREE? There’s - with our set, there’s no way -”

“There has to be a way Derek, so get your band together and figure out what’s changing. We only have two hours before go.” With a flip of hair, Lydia walked out. 

Derek growled, slamming his book closed and glanced over to the opposite couch where Boyd was sitting. He just sighed and stood up, looking at Derek expectantly. Derek rolled his eyes, got up and went in the direction of the stage. 

Erica, Isaac and Cora were already there, literally sprawled out on top of each other on the floor. There were cables running all over the place, and Derek could see Scott messing with the seat of Cora’s drumset and Stiles cursing out the snake of cables in the back under his breath. Derek hid a smile, knowing exactly how the roadie felt. Scott and Stiles were both roadie AND tech crew on this tour - and the two obviously knew what they were doing. Derek had begrudgingly admitted to himself that they weren’t exactly terrible to have around, and this was one of the smoothest tours he’d ever been on. 

“Sup, boss man?” Cora grinned up at him from underneath Isaac, hair draping over Erica’s face, who kept blowing it upwards. 

Derek scowled at her, hating being called the boss. It gave him anxiety, even though it was pretty true. 

“Lydia says we have to cut three inputs. There’s not enough room.”

“Which is bullshit, by the way, whoever designed this place is an idiot, it would be easy to fit almost DOUBLE in here with the board they have,” Stiles said, coming up behind Derek, coiling a cable up. Derek glared at him, and Stiles just raised his eyebrows. 

“Can you do that?” Erica asked, shoving Cora and Isaac off of her. 

Stiles kept eye contact with Derek a little longer than necessary before answering Erica. “Yeah, I could totally fix it, but not in two hours.”

“Then why did you bring it up?” Derek grumbled, and Cora kicked at his ankle. 

“ _Anyway,_ I think I have a solution?”

Everyone turned and looked at Stiles, including Scott, who had walked over. 

“Don’t look so skeptical, geez. Anyway, we can cut the extra electric on ‘Animal’ and do your acoustic version of ‘The Only Exception.’”

“Okay, genius, if that’s the only acoustic, then we’re wasting a whole input on my acoustic guitar. Aren’t we supposed to be cutting inputs?”

“Okay, smartass, obviously I’ll run out during the song before and switch cables with your second electric.”

“I don’t think I wanna trust your timing.”

“I don’t think you exactly have a CHOICE, unless you want to get rid of your second electric entirely and do the whole set with ONE GUITAR, which is impossible for The Great Derek Hale, we all know.”

“They’re tuned differently, you idiot, and the gain is turned WAY up on the second one for the -”

“Okay, boys, did you figure it out or do you need to keep bickering about it?”

Derek dropped his gaze, trying to ignore the pretty flush that had spread across Stiles’ cheeks. It was a good idea, assuming that Stiles would get him the guitar in time and not fuck up anything. Which, Derek admitted, wasn’t exactly being fair as Stiles had been near perfection as far as technical work went the whole time they’d been working together. But he was just - such a little _shit,_ Derek couldn’t help himself. 

Stiles wasn’t exactly easy on Derek either - he never let Derek get away with anything, and was always making comments about how highly Derek must think of himself. It was really rubbing Derek the wrong way, as Derek had tried to keep a humble opinion of himself - hated musicians who thought that they were God’s gift to humanity. Stiles’ continuing comments about ‘the Great Derek Hale’ made him self conscious about basically everything he said. It was making him crazy, because why should Derek care what a pain-in-the-ass roadie thought of him?

Somehow, the entire band had gotten the idea that Derek and Stiles merely needed to resolve their (supposed) sexual tension. Derek told them time and time again that there was NOTHING going on between him and Stiles, but it fell on deaf ears. 

Of course, after Lydia had joined on the teasing, he couldn’t help the thought crossing his mind occasionally. Stiles was - well, he was infuriating. He was always talking and moving and couldn’t sit still for the life of him. Derek was always distracted by him, always found himself looking at the kid. 

Derek couldn’t deny that Stiles was attractive. He supposed his hair was - soft looking. His eyes were big and whiskey colored, frame with thick lashes that widened with emotion every other sentence. His lips were absolutely enticing, plush and full and so very -

“UGHH,” Derek said, running a hand over his face, stopping his thoughts from going somewhere they shouldn’t. 

\------

After the show - which Derek begrudgingly had to admit went off without a hitch, Stiles smirking at him as he switched guitars right on time - Erica had convinced everyone to go out. They didn’t have another show for two days so it was the first time since the tour had started that there was time to relax.

Derek, of course, had said ‘no,’ immediately and managed to ignore Erica and Isaac’s big, pleading eyes - but when Stiles poked his head into the back of the bus, hair spiked, wearing skin tight jeans and a black tank top, eyeliner smeared across his lids - Derek hadn’t been able to say no to him. Stiles had caught him raking his eyes down Stiles’ body, and the roadie had smiled smugly and asked if Derek was going to join them. Derek’s head had nodded without him telling it to. Erica and Cora had shared a knowing look when Derek exited the tour bus behind Stiles wearing his typical t-shirt and jeans, and Derek tried to kill them with a glare. It never worked. 

He didn’t want to examine the reason for his out-of-character extrovertedness, because that way led to madness. He shrugged on his leather jacket and walked next to a thankfully silent Boyd all the way to the bar. 

It wasn’t crowded in the least, being a Tuesday night, but somehow Derek ended up squished next to Stiles on the end of a corner booth, and of course the idiot smelled amazing and looked even better. Derek both wanted to press up against him even more than he already was and also bang his own head against the table. Repeatedly. 

He and Stiles were on better terms since their first encounter, and had set up a sort of truce between them. Derek still snapped and Stiles and Stiles still snapped back, but there was a teasing lilt to their conversations now. Derek hated to admit that he LIKED it when Stiles didn’t back down, how he had never shown fear towards Derek like other roadies and even some fans. He knew that he came off as an asshole and he liked perpetuating that idea (because he had always hated talking to people - that had been Laura’s job), but the unexpected resistance was exhilarating. And a huge turn on. 

Derek groaned again, staring down at his beer. 

“Trouble there, alpha leader mine?” Stiles asked, leaning into Derek’s shoulder. Derek scowled at the nick name. Erica had become friends with Stiles which had been unfortunate for Derek to say the least. Erica was dangerous enough without the added mischievous nature of their new roadie. 

“Don’t call me that,” Derek said. Stiles laughed at him. 

“Seriously, something wrong with your beer?”

“Nothing’s wrong, just shut your -” Derek looked over and - Stiles was suddenly very close. His eyes were SO pretty, Derek’s brain thought without permission. And his mouth was so full, and plush, looked perfect to bite - 

“My mouth?” Stiles asked, smirking, and Derek had a moment of panic, thinking wildly that Stiles could read his mind, before realizing he hadn’t finished his sentence. 

“LIke it’s possible for you to shut your mouth. You literally never shut up.”

“There are ways,” Stiles said, taking a sip of his drink, and Derek could feel his ears turn red. He was grateful for the dark room because there was no way in hell Erica would let it go if she noticed. His ears had given him away too many times to count. 

Stiles was pulled away from Derek by Scott yelling across the table - why had the ROADIES gotten invited to the bar? - and Derek sighed and leaned back against the booth. Erica shot him a look and he glared at her. She nudged Cora, who smirked, and Derek resigned himself to his fate of being teased for all eternity. 

The rest of the night was reasonable, he supposed, but too long. The only thing that kept him from ducking out early as usual was the warm line of Stiles pressed up to him, the smell of his cologne and the stupid bright sound of his laughter. He’d never been around Stiles socially and it was NOT good for Derek’s self-imposed Do-Not-Like-Stiles regime. It was the opposite of helpful and Derek had a very strong suspicion that Erica had planned the whole thing. 

When they finally stumbled out of the bar and back towards the tour bus, Derek was on the sober side of the spectrum and Stiles was definitely on the way to drunk - but the way he was hanging off of Derek’s arm and laughing at Isaac kept him from complaining. Mostly. 

“You are the most annoying human in the world.”

“Aww, Der, you almost sound FOND of me,” Stiles said, squeezing Derek’s arm. 

“I am not. In fact, I am the opposite. I hate you.”

Stiles just laughed at him. Derek didn’t believe it anymore either.

When they finally made it back to the tour bus, Boyd was giving Erica a piggyback, Cora was carrying Isaac, and Derek was carrying Stiles, sort of. He was supporting maybe a little bit of his own weight with the one let still on the ground, but his arms were wrapped around Derek’s neck and he was breathing a little too closely to Derek’s ear. Derek was trying to focus on literally anything else, but it was impossible. 

Erica finally got the damn door open, leaning up from Boyd’s shoulders, and Derek pulled Stiles into the bus behind him. 

“Get off me, you idiot,” Derek grumbled, dumping Stiles on the communal couch. Cora and Isaac shoved past Derek, Isaac smacking his ass as they passed. Stiles blew a raspberry with his stupid pretty lips, and Derek dug a water bottle out of the fridge. Erica and Boyd, despite having opened the door, were still outside, no doubt awkwardly flirting and pretending they weren’t. If anyone had sexual tension problems, it was those two - which Derek gleefully pointed out every time Erica brought up his - whatever - with Stiles.

“Drink this,” Derek said, handing the bottle of water to Stiles. 

“No,” Stiles said, crossing his arms. 

“Do it, or you’ll die.”

“Aww, Derek, you CARE about me!”

“No. Drink it or I’ll KILL you. Because you with a hangover tomorrow is literally just going to be giant bitchfest and I don’t want to deal with it.”

“Threatening murder already, how cute,” Erica said, pushing past Derek and getting her own water out of the fridge. She downed it in one go and winked at Derek. As they passed, Boyd shot a look at Derek and Derek shot one back, gesturing at Erica. Boyd looked away and trailed after Erica into the back of the bus.

“Drink it,” Derek repeated to Stiles, even going as far as to unscrew the lid. 

“Make me,” Stiles said, smirking up at him, and for one wild second Derek had the urge to toss the bottle and just lean down and kiss him. Instead, he grinned down at Stiles and dumped the water over his head. 

“DEREK! What the FUCK MAN,” Stiles spluttered, standing up and shaking off. Derek tossed the empty bottle in the trash and walked down the bus, going into his bunk, trying and failing to not smile and Stiles bitching behind him. 

“You have it bad, man, Boyd said from across the little hallway. 

“You should talk,” Derek said, and flicked off the light. 

 

_(to be continued...)_


	2. Come on out, 7 minutes are up!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You guys wanna play spin the bottle?” Erica asked, a maniacal grin directed at Derek. She’d redressed in a baggy shirt and tiny shorts, and Boyd still couldn’t keep his eyes off her. It was nauseating - and Derek only refrained from mentioning it because he was sure he was no better about Stiles.
> 
> “No,” Derek said, but was drowned out by the rest of the group cheering, Boyd being the only other person against. They shared a look and Boyd let out a sigh, already resigned to his fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, the UST gets RESOLVED a little???

Derek found out by accident. 

They were at a hotel for the night, set to play two shows the next day, and Stiles had just dumped his stuff all over the room he was supposed to share with Derek and Scott before taking off with Scott, Erica, Kira and Isaac for the liquor store. Derek was left alone - which was a breath of fresh air - but Stiles’ stuff was all over BOTH beds and Derek was not having it. He started to push it off onto the floor, and then inexplicably felt bad about that, so he moved everything over to the small table in the corner. Stiles had a duffle bag and a backpack and at least three hoodies, and the backpack had fallen over and spilled out papers and cords and an old school iPod, tangled up in headphone cables. 

Out of curiosity, Derek pressed the home button to see what Stiles was listening to. When the screen lit up with Halefire’s first real album, Derek’s breath caught in his chest. He stared at the cover art, the stupid red and gold lettering that Laura had insisted on, and swallowed the emotions bubbling up his throat.

Derek pressed the back arrow, which took him to Stiles’ music collection. Every single Halefire album was on there, even the singles from before they’d become popular. The singles that were just Derek and Laura singing, scratchy tracks recorded in their parent’s garage in high school. Derek was shocked, to say the least. Stiles had acted like he didn’t even know who Derek was when they’d met.

Not able to help himself, he scrolled through the rest of Stiles’ music, not really seeing much, his mind on the fact that the roadie had everything Halefire had ever created. 

Then he went over to the playlists, and was shocked again. The most often played, at the top of the page, was a playlist labeled “Derek’s Best.” 

Derek’s thumb hovered over the button for an eternity, going back and forth between convincing himself to look and telling himself that this was a huge violation of privacy and what if it wasn’t even him? There were other people in the world named Derek, after all, and there was no way that Stiles would - 

The door banged open and Derek practically threw the iPod across the room. It landed on the floor by the bed, and Stiles and Scott stumbled in, followed by Erica, Boyd, Kira, Isaac, and Cora dragging Lydia behind her. 

“DERRREKKKKKK,” Stiles dragged out, sounding far too enthusiastic. Derek just glared at him, and then looked to Boyd for an explanation.

“Stiles had half of a bottle on the walk over here, so he’s already lit. Scott had the other half. They’re way too - how do I put it?” Boyd said, sitting next to Derek on the bed.

“Excitable? Annoying? Wild?”

“All of the above and PROUD,” Stiles interrupted, plopping down on the other side of Derek, jostling him with his stupid broad shoulder. 

Chatter was all over the place, at least 4 conversations going on at once, laughter erupting from Scott, now behind Derek, sitting in - Isaac’s lap? Derek caught Cora’s eye, and she just grinned at him.

“HEY,” Stiles yelled, diving to the floor, landing part-way on Derek’s foot. Derek kicked him off as Stiles picked up his iPod and glared around the room.

“WHO left this on the FLOOR?”

Derek froze, mind racing to think of literally any excuse, before Scott saved him by stumbling over and saying, “Stiles, you just threw your shit everywhere when we got here. YOU probably did it.”

“I would NEVER,” Stiles said, but was smiling up at Scott, so Derek took a breath. He’d never been grateful for Scott’s presence before but there’s a first time for anything. 

Stiles and Scott took off talking about something Derek couldn’t follow, so Derek stood and went over to where the booze had been laid out, rifling through and eventually pouring himself a very strong jack and coke. 

Two hours later, Derek was three drinks in and finding that he could not look away from Stiles’ mouth. 

Stiles had been varying amounts of intoxicated since he’d arrived, going back and forth between laughing uproariously and gesturing wildly while discussing very serious topics in deep detail. Derek could only hear about every other word because Stiles was practically fellating the bottle he’d been drinking and Derek’s pants were tighter than they’d been in a while. Derek also had a suspicion that Erica and Boyd were both on to him, judging by the eyebrows and looks he’d been receiving for the last few minutes. Even Cora had ‘accidentally’ pushed him the last time he’d gotten up to refill his cup and he’d bumped into Stiles’ knees. Her attention had been on Isaac when he turned around to glare, so he couldn’t be sure, but it was suspicious all the same. 

The worst and most obvious moment, or at least Derek worried it was obvious, was when he and Stiles both went to the table to refill their drinks at the same time. Stiles had nudged him with his elbow and grinned widely before downing the rest of his drink in one go, and Derek had been mesmerized by the movement on Stiles’ throat - head tilted back, neck stretched enticingly, seemingly unaware of how Derek was staring. He then had the audacity to drip some of the drink down his chin and lick his lips like he wasn’t ruining Derek’s life. 

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” Stiles’ full lips said, and Derek startled back, eyes jumping up to see Stiles looking at him. He’d been so distracted by Stiles’ mouth that he hadn’t thought to check if Stiles was paying attention or not. 

“Why would I ever need a picture? You’re constantly hanging around and annoying me, it’s not like I’ll forget what you look like.”

Stiles smirked like he knew Derek was bluffing, and sauntered back to the bed where a game of charades was starting. Derek had been put on Erica, Cora and Isaac’s team under duress. Kira, Boyd, Scott and Stiles were on the other and Lydia had named herself referee. It was both a drinking game and a strip version, so it was immediately complicated and loud and overwhelming. Scott was predictably the worst at the game and was down to one sock and his boxers within half an hour. Everyone else had taken off something or other and Derek was trying not to stare at Stiles’ now-exposed collarbones. It was proving..difficult. 

“Crab? Lobster? Something with claws?” Derek guessed, trying to figure out what insane dance Scott was doing. He kept rolling his eyes and snapping his hands. Derek had no idea.

The alarm on Lydia’s phone buzzed, and Scott yelled out “MOANA!” as everyone else laughed. 

“Moana? Seriously? You chose the dumb crab of all things?”

“You’ve seen Moana?” Cora asked, incredulous. 

“I made him come with me, and as Maui says, you’re welcome,” Erica said. Derek huffed. 

“I believe you still have to take your shirt off, Hale,” Stiles smirked at him, still mostly clothed. He was the only one besides Boyd who had their shirt still on. Derek smirked back, and slowly, deliberately, unbuckled his jeans and slowly slid them off, keeping eye contact with Stiles as his face colored and he dragged his eyes down to take in Derek’s tight black boxer briefs. There was no rule as to which article you had to take off first and the catcalls he was getting from the rest of band were totally worth the shocked look on Stiles’ face. He didn’t examine too closely why he even CARED about Stiles’ reaction. 

“Your turn, Stiles,” Scott said, poking Stiles in the side. Stiles jerked, swallowed and stood, almost tripping again. 

“Problem, Stiles?” Derek couldn’t help but ask.

“Shut up.” 

Several rounds later, Derek was down to his boxers. The drunker the circle got, the worse they were at charades. Erica was literally naked, hiding beneath Boyd’s pillow and Boyd wasn’t even trying to pay attention to the game anymore, switching between glancing at Erica and glancing at the ceiling. Scott, Isaac and Cora were hanging all over each other, and Derek couldn’t stop staring at Stiles. The long lines of his body had always been hidden under layers and layers of clothing, the roadie preferring to wear two or three shirts under his constant hoodies and bandanas and sarcasm. Now, Stiles was more exposed than Derek had ever seen him, only wearing boxer briefs and a worn tank top. His collarbones were downright distracting, and Derek kept trying to figure out if Stiles had even more distracting beauty marks scattered across his back through the thin shirt, but there was no way to be subtle about it and he was ATTEMPTING to not come across suspiciously. The way that Scott kept waggling his eyebrows at him made him think he was not being successful. 

The game dissolved not long after, everyone too drunk and too tired to really keep it going. Derek ended up against the headboard of one of the beds, phone in his hand, trying not to stare at Stiles but failing miserably. He was stretched out on the foot of the bed, head hanging off the edge while he laughed with Scott. He hadn’t bothered to put any of his clothes back on and Derek was both tortured and grateful for that decision. 

“You guys wanna play spin the bottle?” Erica asked, a maniacal grin directed at Derek. She’d redressed in a baggy shirt and tiny shorts, and Boyd still couldn’t keep his eyes off her. It was nauseating - and Derek only refrained from mentioning it because he was sure he was no better about Stiles.

“No,” Derek said, but was drowned out by the rest of the group cheering, Boyd being the only other person against. They shared a look and Boyd let out a sigh, already resigned to his fate.

“How can you be whipped when you’re not even dating?” Derek grumbled under his breath at Boyd, who was already on his way to Erica’s side.

“Circle up, losers.” 

Derek glared at Cora, who was also grinning at Derek, raising her eyebrows. 

There were another round of agreements, and despite Derek’s resistance, he was shoved next to Scott on the floor as the group made a circle. Lydia grabbed an empty wine bottle and placed in on the floor, deeming herself first and spinning it wildly. It landed on Kira, which made the circle cheer, and Lydia leaned into Kira’s space and kissed her on the mouth, sucking on her bottom lip as she let go. Scott was staring the whole time and couldn’t seem to look away. 

After a few more rounds of increasingly scandalous kisses, Lydia declared a seven-minutes-in-heaven round, and as luck would have it, handed the bottle to Stiles. He glanced at Scott, who nodded, and then spun. The bottle swirled around once, twice, and landed directly on Derek.

Derek felt the bottom of his stomach drop and he looked up at Stiles, who was grinning widely at Scott and - blushing? Derek was shoved until he stood and was practically forced into the bathroom after Stiles. Cora winked at him before slamming the door in his face. Derek sighed and rubbed at his chin, turning to Stiles and clearing his throat awkwardly in the silence. 

“Relax, dude, it’s not like we really have to do anything,” Stiles said, leaning back against the bathroom counter, hands hooked on the edge. Derek swallowed, trying not to stare at Stiles’ exposed chest. “It’s just a dumb game - I take no offense to your lack of enthusiasm.”

“No - I -” Derek started, unable to form words, but apparently his hesitation caught Stiles’ attention. Stiles shot straight up, taking a step forward towards Derek. Derek could feel his ears burning and prayed that Erica hadn’t told Stiles about his little give-away - red ears.

“Wait. Do you? Do you WANT to do something?”

Derek looked down, clenching his jaw. When he glanced back up and got caught on Stiles’ collarbones, Stiles’ jaw dropped open. 

“Oh my god, are you INTO me?” Stiles asked, delight obvious. 

“I’m not - I don’t -”

“WOW this is awesome. I can’t even -”

“Shut up.”

“Hell no. You liiiiike me, you want to kiiiiiiss meeee,” Stiles sang, and Derek blamed Erica for the fact that he recognized the song from Ms. Congeniality. 

“Stiles,” Derek growled, but Stiles sang on, batting his eyelashes and swaying his hips until Derek couldn’t take it anymore. He stepped forwards and caught Stiles’ shoulders in his hands, warm skin momentarily distracting him as he got into Stiles’ space. The singing halted, Stiles taking a sharp breath in and staring at Derek, eyes flicking between his eyes and his lips - and maybe once shooting down to his bare chest. 

“Are you -”

“Shut up,” Derek cut him off. They stared at each other for a few seconds, breathing each other’s air - then Stiles leaned forwards, close enough to taste, and whispered, “please.”

How was Derek to resist? Then they were kissing, a deep groan emanating from Derek’s chest as all his theories about the soft warmth of Stiles’ mouth were confirmed - and more. Stiles gasped into the kiss, hands digging into Derek’s hips to pull him closer, taking Derek’s full weight. The feeling of Stiles pressed all the way up his body was overwhelming. Derek’s hands wrapped around Stiles’ back, nails digging into Stiles’ skin and making him moan. It was too much and so, so good. 

Derek had to pull away to breathe, and Stiles took the opportunity to latch on to Derek’s neck - no doubt leaving bruises as Derek’s knees went weak. “Stiles,” he heard himself gasp, and Stiles hummed into his neck, teeth scraping tantalizingly across his skin. 

There was a sharp knock and the door and Derek jerked back, shocked back into reality. 

“Come on out, 7 minutes are up!” Cora shouted. Derek couldn’t seem to let go of Stiles, who smirked at him with flush and shiny lips.

“Time’s up, sourwolf,” he said, leaning in slowly to place one last, lingering kiss on Derek’s lips before pulling away. Then he was out the door, hands above his head as he smiled in reaction to the raucous cheers coming from the main room. Derek glanced at himself in the mirror, and then was staring at the mark Stiles had left on his neck. He straightened his hair and took a deep breath. Erica and Cora lit up like Christmas lights when he emerged and he flipped them off. Boyd nudged his shoulder when he sat down, and when Derek glanced at him he was smiling. Derek smiled back and relaxed a little, meeting Stiles’ eyes across the circle. Stiles winked, and the game went on just like nothing had happened - like Derek couldn’t feel Stiles’ touch burning across his skin.

Derek never got chosen again, so he still felt the phantom of the kiss all night, long after the group broke up and went to bed. They’d already decided who was sleeping where earlier, so Derek had a bed to himself while Scott and Stiles shared the other. At the time it had been the only reasonable option but when Derek remembered the hot line of Stiles’ body against his, he found himself wishing that the arrangements had been switched up. 

\----

 

Derek was, unsurprisingly, the first one awake. It was almost eleven when he finally forced himself out of bed and outside for a run. The morning was practically gone but based on the activities of last night he was definitely the only one up - maybe besides Deaton. And Lydia. She has some superpower of some sort that made her stronger than common mortals, he was sure. 

His body was NOT happy with him - both for drinking so much the night before and for being vertical before 2 pm. By the time Derek got back to the motel, he’d sweated through his shirt and was starving. Scott and Stiles hadn’t moved an inch, so Derek crept through the room and started a shower, wolfing down a granola bar from his pack to tide him over.

He was surprised when he heard a knock at the bathroom door not two minutes later, and Stiles voice came through as he cracked it open.

“Hey, man, sorry, sorry, I just need to pee or I will die,” Stiles said quietly.

“Sure,” Derek said, feeling exposed despite despite the shower curtains.

Stiles dropped the toilet lid after he was finished and Derek expected him to just run out again, but the door didn’t open. Derek couldn’t see Stiles without poking his head out, and he was scared of doing that for some reason. 

“Stiles? Are you still in here?”

“Yeah - yeah, sorry, I’ll -”

“... what?”

“Am I crazy to ask if I can join you?” Stiles asked, and the room went quiet. Even the running water sounded muffled and Derek couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know what to say and felt frozen in place.

“Uhhhh okay, so total silence isn’t a GREAT sign, not even a good one, so I’m gonna go, just forget this all happened, Jesus Christ, I’ll just -”

“Stiles,” Derek said, and then stopped. 

“What?” Stiles finally said.

Derek took a breath and reached over to slowly pull the curtain aside, meeting Stiles’ eyes as soon as he could find them. Stiles ran his eyes over Derek’s bare body, sucked a breath in and then started stripping, tripping over his shoes and the various towels on the floor. Derek couldn’t help but laugh at the spectacle, but his amusement was cut short when Stiles stepped right into the spray with him, pulling the curtain closed again and leaning into Derek’s space, a wicked glint in his eye. 

“I just assumed that that meant yes,” Stiles breathed. Derek rolled his eyes and kissed him. 

Stiles hummed into the kiss, biting at Derek’s bottom lip and wrapping his huge hands around Derek’s hips. Derek lost his breath when Stiles half-hard cock brushed his own rapidly growing erection. 

Derek was suddenly very nervous. He rarely did this - sort of thing. He was a slow and suspicious person when it came to people, and letting Stiles into his space while was at his most vulnerable after only a few weeks and one (albeit amazing) kiss. 

“Hey, man, are you okay?” Stiles asked, trying to get Derek to meet his eyes. Apparently his trepidation was more apparent than he’d realized. When Derek didn’t answer, Stiles moved back and took his hands off Derek, until he was practically pressed against the wall. 

“If you want me to leave, I can just -”

“No, I - it’s just that I.. I don’t do this.”

“This?” Stiles asked, wrapping his bare arms around his chest, and Derek valiantly did NOT look down. 

“This - uh, this. Whole thing.”

“Showering? That’s gotta be unfortunate for the rest of the band. Stuck in tour busses with a pissed off, unshowered asshole for weeks at a time?” The tone didn’t match the words, Stiles’ head tilting in a fond gesture usually reserved for Scott. 

“You know what I mean, Stiles.”

“You are so bad at words! How do you write such amazing music?”

Derek’s eyes widened, staring at Stiles, thinking back to the playlist he’d found.

“Listen, dude,” Stiles started, relaxing his stance but not moving any closer. “I am - into you, clearly, and you’re into me, but if this is too much? And too soon - I’m okay with that.”

“But you asked -”

“Just because I WANT to make you come your brains out in the shower doesn’t mean I won’t like you if I don’t get to do that today. Or ever. You’re allowed to say no or change your mind.”

Derek felt something warm blooming in his chest as he heard the sincerity coming from Stiles’ words. 

“I - okay. Okay,” Derek said, not sure what else to do. 

“Okay,” Stiles said, stepping forward, the shower spray still hitting his shoulder, dripping down his chest. When he reached Derek, he simply curled a hand around Derek’s neck and kissed him softly on the lips, slowly pulling away, grinning, and stepping out of the shower without another word.

Derek gripped the wall, hating and loving the thought of Stiles doing just what he had wanted, and then he had to jerk off to calm down. _Derek Hale,_ he thought to himself, _you are very, very fucked._

\---------------------------

The flirtations didn’t stop there. Stiles had always been fairly blatant about his appreciation of Derek’s good looks, but also would drop compliments in like, ‘sexy broody glorious eyebrows’ or ‘lovely dovely big brother vibes,’ or ‘poetic like the poets of poetically timed poems.’ The last one was while Stiles was inebriated, but he would say little things like that all the time that left Derek confused and flustered with burning ears.

Stiles had made it perfectly clear that he was cool with whatever, and the way he interacted with Derek never faltered because of Derek’s hesitancy. It was reassuring and disconcerning. Derek didn’t know what to do with himself.

Stiles would still stick his tongue out like a child from across the room and gave Derek constant shit about his guitars and the way he wanted things set up, (it just WORKED better that way, okay?) but he would also slowly wink at Derek in the middle of a sentence and pull him into dark corners to bite his neck for a few flustering seconds before stepping out and walking away like nothing had happened. It was - exhilarating, addicting, and absolutely infuriating. Derek had to calm his hard on multiple times a day, sometimes multiple times an hour, because everything Stiles did was making him hot. It was pissing him off, and he could never look away.

It was also blatantly obvious to everyone else on the tour that Derek and Stiles had something going on between them. Conversations and rehearsals were littered with sexual innuendo and pointed comments, both of which Derek ignored and one of which Stiles high-fived people for. Erica, Lydia and Cora were conspiring, Scott had started smiling goofily at him, and even Boyd had waggled his eyebrows at Derek once or twice after Stiles said something suggestive. He was relieved and annoyed that his closest friends were so accepting and approving of his accidental crush. Not that he had a crush in the first place. 

Erica had become Stiles’ number one fan, at least to Derek. She wouldn’t stop bringing him up, and was beyond delighted when Derek brought him up, which was more often than Derek would have liked to admit. 

“You haven’t kissed him since??” Erica stage whispered across the kitchenette table on night after a show, wine drunk and sitting in Boyd’s lap. “What??”

“Shhhhhh,” Derek said, also maybe a little wine drunk. The bus jolted over a pothole and the wine in Derek’s glass sloshed over the edge, dripping onto his hand and wrist. 

“No,” Derek answered belatedly, mumbling through his lips as he licked the wine off his wrist. “Not like I don’t want to, but I - don’t know - I don’t know how to approach it.”

There was a thump behind him and he turned mid-lick to see Stiles had fallen out of his bunk onto the walkway to the back of the bus. He was staring at Derek’s open mouth, and Derek hurriedly closed his mouth and put the glass down. 

“You good, Stilinski?” Boyd asked, rumbling from behind Erica’s excited face.

“Yep, yep, just fine. Good. Dandy.” He continued to mumble as he collected himself and climbed back into bed, sliding the curtain closed almost violently. After a moment, Derek turned back to the table and looked seriously at Erica.

“Do you think he heard me?” He stage whispered, and she laughed.

\------------------------------------

_[before]_

“But you don’t know! You can’t know! That’s what MY momma told me and now I’m here! Don’t say that to me!”

Cora and Derek watched with large eyes from the bottom of the staircase as the foster kid that had been living with them cried and screamed from the corner of the kitchen. She was pressed up against the counters like someone was trapping her, but both Talia and Bobby Hale were standing practically in the living room, leaning against the door frames and watching Erica with big, sad eyes. 

They had all been at the dinner table, talking and laughing and having a generally good time, when Derek’s dad looked at his mom seriously and she stood up, causing the commotion to calm. Derek, 16 and Cora, 13 shared a look and Ben started wiggling in his seat. The Hales had discussed the idea before dinner, and everyone was excited at the prospect. Erica had become part of the family, best friends with Cora, and a charming annoyance to Derek. 

“Erica, we’d like to talk to you about something very important. You’re such a wonderful addition to our household, and we love having you around. We talked as a family about this already, and everyone is in agreement. We’d - Erica, we’d like to officially ask you to become part of our family. We would like to discuss adoption. Would you want to think about becoming a Hale?”

Derek hadn’t exactly been surprised by the desire from his generous parents when they’d brought it up, but it was still a little shocking to think about. The table fell silent as they all digested the idea. Cora was staring at Erica, as was Ben, and Derek was looking at his mother. She was watching Erica as well, and he recognized the love in her face from the many times it had been directed at him. 

Maybe it wasn’t so crazy to adopt another kid. 

But then Erica had snapped. She tossed her plate on the floor and stood angrily, unexpected violent. “You don’t want to adopt me. You won’t keep me. You just feel sorry for me.”

“What?” Talia had said, and the yelling and crying had started to build until they were giving Erica a whole room to herself while she cried, defensive and hurt. Derek had never seen her like that.

“Erica, can you please take some deep breaths, honey. We want to talk about this,” Talia said, rubbing her eyes.

“No! Leave me alone! I want to GO!”

“Erica, PLEASE,” Bobby said, taking a step, and Erica flinched. He stepped back, turning away and looking more defeated than Derek had ever seen him. 

Then Ben was pushing through Derek and Cora, crossing to the kitchen and slipping between their parents to end up with his hands on his hips in front of Erica, who had stopped screaming, at least. She was staring at Ben, tears still rolling. 

At 10 years old, Ben stood a head and shoulders below Erica, who had shot up in the last year and grown out of all her shoes. The two of them had a best friend sort of rivalry, and Ben was always stealing Erica’s band t-shirts in response to Erica always playing on his computer. 

“Erica. What are you thinking? You think that we don’t want you?”

Erica sniffled. 

“That’s - super dumb.” 

“Ben,” Talia whispered, but Ben continued on. 

“Do you think my mom and dad will get tired of me? Or Derek or Cora or even Laura? That’s super dumb, good parents don’t just get tired of their kids.”

“But..but I’m not really -”

“Shut up, Erica, yes you ARE. You are REALLY their kid and my sister,” Cora added, pushing through the adults to join Ben in the kitchen. “We can’t get tired of you; you’re part of our family.”

Derek watched Erica’s face flit from Ben to Cora to Talia and Bobby, before settling on Derek, still on the stairs. Her eyes hardened, almost challenging him to prove her right. Derek glared back and came into the kitchen, keeping eye contact until he was squatting in front of Erica, her eyes round and red and full of hope. 

“Ben’s right. You’re being super dumb,” Derek said to her. “We’re only asking because we thought we’d give you a choice in the matter. You’ve been a Hale for ages.”

Erica’s eyes spilled over again, and Derek thought he’d done something wrong, but then he had a crying 12 year old in his arms, clinging to him like she couldn’t let go. Cora and Ben were quick to embrace Derek as well, and he found himself in the center of a Hale family hug. Again. 

“Does this mean I get a stocking?” Erica asked after a while, pulling back and staring up at Talia. 

She started crying all over again when Talia went to the coat closet and pulled out a purple stocking with the name “Erica” already embroidered on it, matching the various colored stocking already crowded into a box at the top of the closet. 

Derek still had that box somewhere, but they hadn’t opened it in so long he didn’t remember where it was. It was depressing when more than half of the stocking stayed in the box. 

\-----------------------------

_[present]_

“So what’s with Derek?”

“Jesus, Stiles, could you say that any louder?” Cora said, making a frustrated sound. Derek was in his bunk area, the rumble of the bus below them a soothing rhythm. He probably looked like he was asleep, which is why Stiles had asked Cora the question in the first place. 

“Uh...so what’s with Derek?” Stiles stage-whispered. Derek had to muffle a snort. 

“What do you mean?”

“He - he seems, I don’t know. Like he doesn’t actually want to be wherever he is. He’s hesitant and confusing and I don’t know how he feels.”

“Feels? About you, you mean.”

There was a telling silence. Derek held his breath, imagining Cora’s assessing face.

“I don’t know if I should be the one you ask about this,” Cora said, and Derek felt his chest warm at the thought of his little sister being so protective and honest when she didn’t know he could hear. 

“I’m not asking for like, all his darkest secrets. I just want to know how to - to know where I stand, I guess. I’m worried I like him more than he likes me, I guess. And I don’t know why he’s been so cautious, I mean -”

“Honestly you’re lucky that Derek has even shown you anything at all,” Cora said, and Derek could hear her shifting on the couch. “He’s been through a lot - I mean, we all have - but Derek’s different. He has more shit in his past than you’d guess, and he - he feels so much. I don’t really understand it to be honest, but Derek is basically just a big ball of soft emotions. Don’t let the attitude and glare fool you.”

There was a pause, and Derek held his breath, waiting for Stiles to say something. Surprisingly, he stayed silent. 

“I like you, Stiles. And I don’t like a lot of people,” Cora said. “But if you get into this, you better mean it. If you even get CLOSE to hurting my brother, I’ll rig your balls to my bass drum kick and kick it until you die.”

“Shit, Cora, you are terrifying.”

“Thank you,” Cora said, and Derek could hear her smugness. 

“I don’t want to hurt him. Like, at all. I - I’ve been into Derek longer than I’ve known him.”

“What?”

Stiles sighed, and Derek could imagine him running his hands through his hair. “Okay, so when Lydia hired me for this tour? It wasn’t exactly on accident. She and I have been friends since elementary school, same with Scott - and she knew that I was a HUGE Halefire fan. You should see my iPod.”

“Are you - are you fucking kidding me. Is this some sort of fan worship bullshit?? Are you only into Derek because you’re a FANBOY?” Cora whispered furiously, getting only slightly louder as she went. Derek stopped breathing. He hadn’t even - even CONSIDERED that this was all for his fame. Derek forgot, regularly, that people cared who he was.

“What? No, Jesus, Cora, that’s not - that’s not what this is!” Stiles voice got shrill at the end, and Derek heard some sort of a hit that was most likely Cora slamming her hand over Stiles’ mouth.

“Explain yourself,” she growled, so low that Derek could barely hear it. Stiles probably thought he was about to get murdered.

There was a muffled sound and some shuffling, and then Stiles took an exaggerated breath. 

“Explain, Stilinski, or I’ll -”

“Or you’ll VERY OBVIOUSLY kill me, yes, I can definitely see that. Fuck. Okay, YES, I’m a huge Halefire fan. Always have been, because I grew up in Beacon Hills!”

Derek shook his head slightly, thinking that there was no way -

“I was at the first show they did. You did. In the garage, in the summer.” There was a pause, and Stiles went on. “Don’t believe me? Laura had a black t shirt on with ripped overalls and Derek was wearing skinny jeans and a white tank top and they both confirmed my bisexuality long before anyone else did.” Cora snorted, and there was more shuffling. “There was a rug on the driveway, and Ben was - uh, Ben was selling tickets at the gate, $1 for entrance. I remember that, because my mom gave me four quarters. I ran up to the table and Ben just held out a hand without a word. I handed him the quarters and he counted them and then - saluted me. It was so, it felt so cool to be there.” Derek couldn’t believe what he was hearing - there was no way Stiles could have made that up - the memory so viceral that Derek had to blink away tears at the image, drawn from the other side of the scene. He realized that he was missing part of the conversation and tuned back in to hear Stiles say, “..after that I was - entranced. The lyrics were a little over my head at the time, that was what - 6th grade? But I was obsessed. Immediately. My mother was dragged to every single Halefire show after that.”

“How is that possible? I don’t remember you, or a kid and his mom from our hometown at every show. I would recognize you.”

“I mean? I never got the nerve up to ask for autographs or pictures, so you probably never saw my face. And I went through puberty while you - while the band was taking a break,” Stiles said, gracefully stepping over the accident. “I changed a lot.”

“So you’re into my brother because of his songwriting talent?”

“No, could you let me just - yeah, I had a fanboy crush on Derek and Laura immediately and always, so yes, I’ve always been into Derek.”

Something in Derek dropped a little at the admission. 

“But, I mean, I hated him on sight practically. I had heard he was egotistical and rude but didn’t want to believe it. And then those DAMN guitars. Do you remember that first day?”

Cora nodded. “I wasn’t there when you two got into it, but I heard the story from several people. Most people are terrified of him on principle, so at least I know you have the balls to stand up to him.”

“Uh. Okay.”

“Continue.”

“..yeah, so I was so mad and disappointed and you can ask Scotty, I ranted and raved about how to never meet your heroes and Derek Hale was so full of himself and I was idiot and now had ruined any chance at a friendship with my favorite musician EVER -”

“I get it, Stilinski.”

“Sorry, anyway, then. We started being forced together because of the tour, and I think I proved myself to him and he relaxed and stopped being such a dick, which made me stop being such a dick. And then we were friends? And then spin the bottle. And then I knew I was fucked.”

“Oh, so you’re like. In love with him.”

Derek could feel his heart rate skyrocket, and Stiles sucked in a huge breath. There wasn’t an admission that Derek could hear, but then Cora said, “That’s different. I can work with that.”

“W- what?” Stiles said, but Derek could hear Cora moving across the floor toward the back, where her bunk was above him. 

“Don’t worry about it. I think you should maybe talk to Derek after all,” Cora said from the base of the ladder, just outside Derek’s bed. 

“You’re insane,” Stiles said, scoffing like the idea was ridiculous. 

Cora hummed, and suddenly shifted the curtain next to Derek open, but only enough so that Stiles still wouldn’t see him. Derek stared up at her, guilty for being caught and silently begging her not to give him away.

“Am I?” She said in answer to Stiles. “Are you sure?”

Derek watched her face for any sort of reaction. “Like Derek would open up to someone like me,” Stiles grumbled, and Cora raised her eyebrows accusingly at Derek before dropping the curtain back over him and climbing that ladder. 

“You might be surprised, Stiles,” she said, before sliding her curtain closed. 

Stiles sat at the table in the kitchenette for a long time after that, so long that Derek fell asleep. When he peeked out, the bus was dark, Stiles nowhere to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't gonna post for a WEEk can you imagine...  
> but here I am. See you soon!


	3. Well, At Least It Was Sincere.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Derek - if, uh,” Derek was half paying attention to what Stiles was saying, concentrating on tasting the collarbones and long neck lines he’d been staring at for weeks. “Derek if you don’t want me to shove you back into that room and try to get you and your naked glory all op on me, you’re gonna want to stop that.”
> 
> Derek dropped his head to Stiles’ shoulder, breathing hard and considering his options.
> 
> “I am hungry,” he grumbled at last, and Stiles laughed, tugging on Derek’s hair until he lifted his head to meet Stiles’ eyes. Stiles kissed him lightly on the mouth and then smiled, pulling back.
> 
> “Let’s go then, your ravenous rockstar you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? Sometimes I give you surprise!sex scenes.

“Hey,” Derek said, and Stiles practically jumped out of his skin. He was knee deep in cables inside the equipment trailer, and had been muttering to himself. Derek should have guessed that Stiles couldn’t hear his approach, but seeing him jump was...pretty funny. 

“DUDE. Holy shit, I thought I was gonna have a heart attack for a second, WARN a guy, could ya?”

Stiles was breathing dramatically, the hand on his chest looped in wires and the hand in his hair making him look even more debauched than he already did. 

Derek licked his lips. Stiles dropped the wires. 

“So - uh, shit, hey. Hey, I was coming over to say that. Uh. I mean, I was talking to Erica, and she - she seemed to think that I should. Um.”

“Derek, spit it out,” Stiles said, grinning cheekily. Derek rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. 

“Remember what you started uh - in the shower? That one morning?”

It took a second but then Stiles’ eyes got big and he nodded, a little slack-jawed. 

“I wouldn’t - I’ve been thinking about finishing what you started. If you’re still - If you want to.” God, Derek sounded like a teenager, all fumbling and nervous. But it was different, somehow, when you knew the other person was in lo-- the other person was into you. It was thrilling, a little bit, to see Stiles blush all the way down his neck.

“Uhh, of fucking course I do,” Stiles said, looking a little shocked.” And then, Flirty Stiles was back. “Did you want to maybe grab a beer after the show? Alone? So I can feel you up under the table?” 

Stiles said the last part right into Derek’s ear, making him shiver. When Stiles pulled away, smirking, Derek grabbed his jaw and pressed their lips together, holding on for a few seconds before Stiles melted a little, tilting his mouth to slide across Derek’s in sweet, warm perfection. Stiles made a little sound that sung down Derek’s spine and sent his head spinning. 

Derek, so in control of the kiss at first, was quickly surrendering under Stiles’ careful movements, getting drunk on the feeling. It had been weeks since that day - that moment - and Derek hadn’t realized he’d been craving ever since. Stiles made an approving sound when Derek wrapped an arm around his waist, but when Derek pulled Stiles closer, Stiles yelped, pulled away and then crashed over into Derek, making them both fall into the trailer, landing tangled in the mess of cords Stiles had been ‘organizing.’

Derek looked down to see that Stiles had somehow gotten wrapped up in the cables, paralyzing his legs and causing the fall. Derek was now kneeling on top of Stiles, who had cables dripping from his arms and legs. 

“Hey, guys, maybe don’t fuck on the sound equipment that we all share?”

Derek jumped at the voice, making Stiles smirk, before getting up and turning to see Erica, Boyd, Scott and Kira all looking at them with various degrees of pleasure and judgement. 

“We - we weren’t -”

“We just fell over because I got tangled up. As you can see. Derek was helping me get - undressed.” Stiles added an eyebrow waggle at the end that made Derek have to fight a smile. 

“Regardless. No Fuck On Equipment,” Erica stated, each word sharp and deep. She was smiling, though, so Derek knew she’d be gloating later. Scott started trying to pull wires off Stiles’ arm, whispering something to Stiles that made him get hit on the arm. Kira went to the other side of Stiles and tried to find the beginning of the cable wrapped around Stiles’ knees. 

“He started it. I’m not helping,” Derek said. Stiles snorted. Boyd rolled his eyes and walked past the trailer towards the bus.

“We all know you’re gonna help anyway, you fuckin softy, just keep it in your pants. You too, Stilinski,” Erica said, winking before heading after Boyd.

“It’s gonna be awhile before he can move, let alone take his pants off,” Kira said thoughtfully, and Derek barked out a surprised laugh along with Scott’s chuckling before joining them on the floor and smiling at Stiles - trying not to freak out about the happy little feeling fluttering in his chest. 

\---------------

The show felt different that night, not bad but - electric. Sharp. 

It might have been the way that Stiles’ eyes followed him on stage, or the lingering brush of fingers when Stiles handed him a different guitar in between songs. Derek had never been so aware of his body during a performance. He was anxious for the set to end so he could go race around the venue once or twice to get some of his energy out.

His mind kept reminding him that there were _other_ ways to get energy out, but he was trying to stay away from THAT part of everything. God. What if Stiles wanted to have sex right away? What if he DIDN’T? Derek had no idea which would be better, but he wanted. He wanted bad. 

He practically ran off the stage after the curtain, and luckily this crowd didn’t cheer for an encore. Derek made it back to the dressing room in record time, and got through a shower and changed before the rest of the band even made it off the stage. 

Stiles was hauling a speaker with Scott behind the stage when Derek caught up with him. He nearly dropped the thing while waving, which made Derek have to smother a grin. 

“Hey, lemme get this where it goes and I’ll change and meet you at that stupid little dive bar across the street?”

“You don’t have work to do? I can wait,” Derek said, walking alongside them and having to put his hands in his pockets for fear of reaching out for Stiles. 

“Nah, Scotty and the band can take care of it for one show, right?” Stiles grunted as they lifted the speaker into the trailer, and with a loud clang it dripped into place.

Scott glared at Stiles over the top of the speaker.

“Scotty, bro, because you love me?”

Scott just glared more. It didn’t really have the desired effect because - Scott looked like and would always look like a puppy. But he was trying. 

“Becaaaaause you love the idea of giving BACK some of the time I spent covering for your ass while you were dating you-know-who? Puh-leeeeeeeze?” Stiles asked, sing-songy and batting his eyelashes as Scott until he broke and rolled his eyes through a smile. 

“Thanks, buddy!” Stiles yelled before taking off towards the bus. He winked at Derek over his shoulder.

“You’ll be fine, man,” Scott said, patting him twice on the shoulder before wading through equipment into the trailer. Derek took a deep breath and then took off towards the motel across the street. He forced himself to not obsess over his wardrobe or hair, simply put on what he picked first after his shower and and glanced in the mirror before twisting open the door to go across the street. 

He came to an abrupt stop, however, when he found Stiles standing outside the door, plaid shirt hanging askew and hair an absolute mess. He straightened up when he realized Derek had opened the door, and grinned lopsided at him. 

Derek couldn’t help himself. Stiles made him feel crazy, absolutely out of his mind turned on and wild and happy. So he took a step forward and hauled Stiles in by his collar, gently kissing him on the mouth. He and Stiles both sighed at the same time, so apparently the kiss felt as perfect for Stiles as it did for Derek. 

Stiles tilted his head and leaned into Derek’s hips, pushing him against the doorframe, the kiss deep and warm and quickly becoming more than gentle. Derek felt Stiles rub against his thigh, and started at the realization that he was rock hard, as was Derek. 

“Shit,” Derek heard himself whisper, and Stiles smirked against his mouth, pushing into Derek even more and angling himself so their dicks lined up and rubbed across each other deliciously. They both groaned at that.

“Derek - if, uh,” Derek was half paying attention to what Stiles was saying, concentrating on tasting the collarbones and long neck lines he’d been staring at for weeks. “Derek if you don’t want me to shove you back into that room and try to get you and your naked glory all op on me, you’re gonna want to stop that.”

Derek dropped his head to Stiles’ shoulder, breathing hard and considering his options.

“I am hungry,” he grumbled at last, and Stiles laughed, tugging on Derek’s hair until he lifted his head to meet Stiles’ eyes. Stiles kissed him lightly on the mouth and then smiled, pulling back.

“Let’s go then, your ravenous rockstar you.”

\---------------------------------

They got through a meal and a few drinks with minimal public indecency, and Stiles had his hands unashamedly in Derek’s back pockets as they stumbled across the street, tipsy and giggling. Stiles was leaning against the door, sucking on Derek's bottom lip as Derek fumbled with the key card. Unfortunately, when Derek clicked open the door to the hotel room that Derek, Stiles and Scott SHARED…

“Scott?!” Stiles yelped, and then smacked a hand over his eyes, elbowing Derek in the process, who yelled, “oh my GOD,” when Cora smacked Isaac’s hand away from her bare breast and pulled the sheet violently up above her head, clipping Scott in the chin. All three were completely naked and obviously in the middle of something. Scott yelled profanities as he fell off the bed and grabbed for a pillow to cover himself.

“Jesus Christ, Cora, fuck, Isaac?? - oh my god I can’t -” Derek got out before having to turn and step out the door, dragging Stiles (who was still covering his eyes) out the door and closing it with a slam. They stood in silence for a few seconds before hearing the very clear ‘click’ of the deadbolt behind them and looked at eachother with wide eyes. 

“Do you want to see what Lydia is doing? Or Kira?” Stiles asked, his voice higher than normal. Derek nodded and turned down the sidewalk to the motel room a few doors down. There was soft light coming from through the sheer curtains, and Lydia’s soft “come in,” came immediately after Stiles’ knock. She was seated in the armchair by the window, curled up with a notebook and a pen in her hair. She took one look at them and smiled. 

“Did you try to go into your room?” Lydia asked innocently, and Stiles full on shuddered. Derek coughed and shoved past Stiles into the room, pulling off his hoodie.

“Make yourself at home,” Lydia said, eyeing him, but he could tell she didn’t mind. 

“Is that tequila?” Stiles asked, pointing across to the dresser, and when Lydia hmmed a yes, he went straight for the bottle. 

“Did Stiles ever tell you about the first time he had tequila?” Lydia asked Derek, putting down her notebook. Derek knew that they had gone to school together in Beacon Hills, but shook his head. Stiles hadn’t mentioned that one. 

Stiles groaned, his head inside the fridge, looking at the mixers Lydia had. “Don’t lead with the tequila story!”

“Please lead with the tequila story,” Derek said, sitting on the edge of the bed and slipping off his shoes. 

“It did not go well,” Lydia began, and they told embarrassing stories and drank together until the early hours of the morning. When they returned to their room, Stiles took one look at the bed he was supposed to share with the now-snoring Scott, and then turned pleading eyes on Derek. Derek smothered a laugh and kissed Stiles once, nodding assent to sharing Derek’s bed for the night. He couldn’t blame Stiles - every time he looked at the other bed he could see the things scarred into his brain. You’re not supposed to see your sister getting it on with anyone, let alone two people at once. There had been so much going on.

They brushed their teeth together silently, Stiles’ elbow brushing against Derek’s every so often. Derek only snuck one look when Stiles changed into pajamas, but Stiles openly stared and made Derek blush. They crawled into bed together, and Derek felt something settle in his chest. As if Stiles was all he needed to be safe and peaceful. As if the fiery boy now curled up in his arms softened every worry and anxiety just by existing. 

It was - terrifying. It was exhilarating. It was way too good to last, Derek feared, but there was a bloom of hope in a corner of his mind that only grew when Stiles turned and shoved at Derek’s shoulder until he turned around and surrendered to Stiles’ big spoon - feeling utterly wrapped up, covered, cared for. It took no time at all to fall asleep.

\---------------------

Derek woke to the smell of coffee brewing and the soft brush of hair against his chin. Stiles was laid out on Derek’s chest, hand tucked into the strap of Derek’s tank top and a little bit of drool coming out of his open mouth. Derek smiled without thinking about it - it was _cute_ , okay? And Stiles only mumbled a little before diving back into the bed when Derek shifted so he could stand, looking around to find the room empty, the coffee warming, muffins and bacon under under paper towels on the dresser, and what appeared to be an apology note.

Derek unwrapped the note, and began to read as he munched on the guilt-bacon.

_Derek & Stiles -_  
We are really sorry about yesterday, it was totally my fault (Scott) because I was supposed to lock the door. I was distracted. We might need to come up with a system, guys, like maybe a tie around the doorknob? I’m sorry again, enjoy breakfast -   
Bus leaves at 11:00.  
\-- Scott  
__CORA X - Isaac (sorry guys) 

Well, at least it was sincere. And the bacon was perfect, as were the muffins. And when he opened the fridge, there was a small jug of milk inside, with two glasses. 

“Ugh. This might be worth it. If they do this every morning for the rest of our lives, it might have been worth it,” he mumbled under his breath, sitting down at the small table with a collection of milk, coffee, bacon, and muffin, trying to stuff his face and not wake Stiles. He had to wake him eventually, because they needed to pack up and it was already 8:30-something, but his bed-crazed hair and soft little snoring was just so perfect and peaceful with the sun coming through the window and the coffee…

He might just sit quiet for a little longer.

 

\-------  
\---------------

 

_[after]_

There was a kid. At the police station. 

‘Kid’ might not have been the right word. He must have been 13 or 14, scrawny, shaved head and big eyes. He was in the back corner of the sheriff’s office. He was pretending not to be listening to the conversation. He was distracting. 

“Derek, son, you gotta stay with me here, just for a little longer,” Derek heard, and turned to see the sheriff looking at him.

“I’m sorry, sir, um. What did you ask me?”

“Did you happen to see any more details about the other car, or the driver? You mentioned the car was black.”

“Yes, sir. It was black, and,” Derek swallowed, trying to just focus so he could help them find whoever fucking -

“It was a black sports car, with those - bright blue, I don’t know, LED headlights. The driver was - he got out of the car while we were rolling down the hill. I couldn’t see much, but - uh, dark hair, short. Looked like he was bigger, maybe worked out. I - I couldn’t see -”

“That’s - that’s just fine, Derek, don’t worry, that’s plenty of detail. We’ve already got people looking into this. Would you and Cora like to go to the hospital again?”

“Yes, please,” Cora croaked out. She had a broken arm and three broken ribs - Derek had a sprained wrist. Peter was in the ICU for internal bleeding and head trauma. Everyone else - 

Cora suddenly stood and Derek realized that he had missed part of the conversation. The sheriff was saying something, and the boy in the corner wasn’t even pretending not to look. He looked at Derek with big, sad eyes that somehow made Derek wonder how the boy understood - how this teenager could feel the same deep hurt that Derek was flinching away from, but somehow Derek KNEW that he knew. 

“Derek,” Cora said, tugging at his sleeve, and he turned away and walked out of the station.

Erica was already at the hospital, asleep in the lobby outside the ICU. Derek had brought her french fries and coffee, and she smiled sleepily at him before the grief took over again. 

Peter didn’t last the night. 

 

\-----  
\----------------

_[present]_

 

“My mom - she died when I was 11.”

Derek froze, hand still in Stiles’ hair where he had been playing with it. They were laid out on the bench opposite the little kitchenette in the main part of the bus. Scott and Kira were in the back, “napping,” - Derek wasn’t so sure. He couldn’t figure out what the dynamic was with Scott, but he also had a feeling he didn’t want to know. Erica and Boyd were watching a movie with headphones in up front, Isaac was practicing bass with headphones in the back, and Lydia was submerged in a very thick, very French book behind Boyd, and didn’t look to be coming back to reality any time soon. He and Stiles were essentially alone.

Derek didn’t respond to Stiles, but started moving his hand through Stiles’ hair again. Stiles sighed and kept on.

“She had frontotemporal dementia - basically lost her mind. I was alone in her hospital room when she flatlined.”

Derek’s heart bunched up in his chest, imagining what that would have been like at 11.

My dad - he’s the sheriff back home - he was out on a call. She’d been unresponsive for a few days. Nobody expected her to just - die.”

Derek sat up, gently pushing Stiles off of him and turning their bodies so they were side by side on the bench. 

“Your dad? Is the sheriff - so that was you, in his office that day,” Derek said, looking at Stiles face with the boy from before in mind, and he could see the round features that had sharpened and the short spiked hair that had grown wavy and free. “Holy shit.”

“You didn’t know that? I wondered if you remembered me, but yeah. That was me. I was...13? Maybe? I don’t know, but my babysitter had bailed and Melissa - Scott’s mom - was working, so I had to go to the station with dad. He regretted bringing me in, because - that was -”

“The car crash. He was one of the first ones on scene,” Derek said in a small voice. 

“I’m sorry, Derek, I just - I only brought it up because I want you to know that - I get it. My mom, I was super close with her. And then she started changing, and getting sick, and then I lost her. I want - I want you to be able to talk about it. You never, ever talk about your family, even though - the band is named after Laura, man. You should be able to talk about them, and I get it. I get the ache you have in your chest. You can talk to me.”

Derek stared at Stiles and was reminded of that day in the office, the boy’s eyes deep and sad just like the ones looking back at him now. 

“Thank you,” Derek whispered, and Stiles gave him a melancholy smile, squeezing his hand.

Derek smiled at Stiles stood and leaned down to kiss Derek’s forehead. “Gonna take a snooze,” he said, and headed to the back of the bus, leaving Derek with a goofy smile on his face. He stared after Stiles until he climbed into his bunk, and then looked over to find Lydia staring him down with one brow raised. He felt his ears go hot, and glared at her. 

_What?_ He mouthed at her.

She didn’t respond except to raise her eyebrows higher and look at him in a way that reminded him of Laura. He rolled his eyes and slid his laptop over from where it had been sitting on the table, electing to ignore whatever Lydia thought she was thinking. 

_She’s probably right,_ his mind supplied. 

Derek ignored that too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I can wrap this up in two more chapters, but absolutely no promises. I adore your comments and kudos. <3


	4. Here we go again, I kinda wanna be more than friends

Derek looked down at his lap where they lyrics had been half scribbled on the back of one of the set lists, and thought, “ _This is very bad._ ”

Not bad like BAD, but bad in the way that it just made everything more complicated. 

He was writing a song about Stiles.

It wasn’t a rare occurrence, for Derek to write a song about someone. He used the songs to express the things he didn’t know how to say otherwise. He had gifted songs, gotten past failures with songs, made playlists for people - it was the way his heart talked. 

And now it was fucking talking about _Stiles._ This was bad.

First off, he was backstage, waiting for the rest of the sound check to be over, sitting on an amp and had just started - strumming. And then it was a pattern, and then it was a melody, and then it was song about STILES. 

“Whatcha writin?” Lydia asked over his shoulder, startling Derek from his thoughts and making him drop the paper, thankfully, face down. 

“Nothing, why are you sneaking up on people?”

“Derek, honey, I wear heels. You can always hear me coming. YOU were the one so focused on whatever you were writing that you weren’t paying attention.”

“You still meant to scare me.”

Lydia sniffed and then walked around in front of Derek and stepping on the page.

“Whatcha writing?” She said, both heels planted firmly.

“Nothing, give it back.”

“You haven’t written anything new in WEEKS, and here you are writing something during a sound check. It’s gotta be something special.”

“I’m not done yet,” Derek growled out, leaning down to grab the corner of the paper, looking up at Lydia expectantly for her to lift her feet.

Lydia leaned down over him, a sharp look on her face. 

“Is it about Stiles?” She asked softly, and Derek froze, and just knew that she knew. It was too late - his ears were red and she was stepping off the paper and clicking away with a smug look on her face.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Derek said to himself, and then he imagined Stiles laughing at the reference, and then he smacked himself on the forehead. 

“Derek, we’re ready for you,” Cora said, waving a drumstick at him. He hopped up and trotted over to his stand, switching the acoustic that he’d been using for his first electric.

“Testing, one two three four seven nine fifteen eleventy hundred million testing,” Stiles’ voice came over the monitors and Derek glanced stage right to see Stiles grinning like an idiot into his microphone, before walking up and placing it carefully in its cradle. 

“Break a leg,” Stiles whispered from behind the mic, where it wouldn’t pick up his voice. “Go ahead Derek!” He heard Kira yell from the booth.

Derek stepped up to the mic, barely inches between them, and Stiles’ eyes widened. 

“Here we go again, I kinda wanna be more than friends,” Derek started to sing, knowing that it was on Stiles’ favorites playlist and loving the color that bloomed on Stiles’ cheeks as he sang into the mic.

“Do you need more than that, or is that okay?” Derek asked, addressing Kira, but keeping eye contact with Stiles, who had his lips parted and eyes wide. 

“We’re good! Let’s do a full band check!”

Stiles scurried away, turning to look at Derek once more before stepping off stage. He winked, and Derek felt something like affection curl down his ribs and settle somewhere just off center, right under his heart. 

Cora yelled from behind him, and he could feel the energy of the band spike. “One! Two! Three! Four!” And then the guitars wailed, and they were off.

It never got old.

 

\------  
\-------------

_[before]_

“What inspired the song ‘The Only Exception?’ It’s one of the more dynamic songs on the new album, but deservedly reached a spot on the top ten tracks in America right now.”

“Well, as you might have not been aware, Derek writes most of our music, with some tweaking from friends and family here and there. He wrote that song entirely alone - so I would direct that question at him.”

Derek shot a glare at Laura as the interviewer turned towards him, eagerly waiting for an answer. It was true, that Derek wrote that song himself, but he hated being interviewed. And most of his songs were very personal. And Laura KNEW that. And that song - he didn’t want to give too many details, lest Paige was listening to the broadcast and didn’t want her life opened up on the radio. But she would know he was talking about her, not as if she didn’t know the song was for her. She had been the first to hear it, even before the rest of the band or his parents. She had cried, and they had embraced and cried together, and then they had scrolled through her Pinterest getting wine drunk as she told him every little detail about her wedding plans. It had been about 10 months away at the time, but Paige had had it all planned out.

Laura poked him hard in the side and Derek coughed, realizing that it had been long enough that the tv host was arching her brows at him.

“I did - I wrote that song, Laura is correct. The Only Exception was, it’s about a friend of mine. I write songs to, uh, help process reactions and emotions. Um. So a good friend told me a story about her parents, and her family, and how she had been afraid of love her whole life. But she wanted to find it. And then she did - she said it was the only exception she’d ever known. And then, uh, then the song. Happened.”

Laura looked delighted, and the host was giving him a thoughtful look. 

“Are more of your songs as seen through other’s perspectives?”

Derek glanced at the host, meeting her eyes. It was a question he’d never been asked. Most people realized he wasn’t a great speaker and moved on, but this woman genuinely seemed interested. 

“Uh, yeah, I have a handful. Some of them are about me, and some are about - people I don’t know. Or no one. A lot of my songs are based on or about people I know, but. Uh. It depends.”

“Depends on what?”

Derek took a breath, not expecting another question, and having to think about the answer. 

“Depends on where they come from.” He answered as simply and honestly as he could, and he could see the understanding in her eyes, the host - he had already forgotten her name, never expecting to connect with her. He wanted to know how she knew what he meant. 

She glanced up at the clock, and looked through the window at her partner behind the glass. Turning the Laura, the host said, “Thank you Laura, Derek, for being on our broadcast…”

Derek lost whatever else she said and lost time until they were standing outside the studio, Laura handing him his coat at the host - Braeden - was reaching out to shake his hand goodbye. He took her hand, but instead of shaking it, said, “Can I buy you dinner?”

Laura tripped over her own boot and knocked into the doorframe on her way out, but thankfully left them alone without comment. They had driven together, but if she turned him down, maybe Laura would wait. Or turn around. 

“Are you - asking me out?”

“I mean, yeah. Yes. I promise I can speak better when I’m not being interviewed.” Derek dropped Braeden’s hand, looking down and mentally berating himself for being such an _idiot_ around pretty people.

Braeden stepped forward, into Derek’s space. “First time in Denver?” She asked, looking up at Derek expectantly. 

“Uh, yes. I mean, I’ve been through driving and at the airport but -”

“How do you feel about Italian?” Braeden interrupted, tilting her head to the side.

“I...feel good? About Italian?” Derek said, hoping this was going where he thought it was.

“Good,” she said, stepping out of space and walking around to gather up her purse and jacket. “I have the perfect place for you to take me, she said, winking.   
\--  
Braeden and Derek had a very intense two-weeks in person and then dated long distance for about a month before they realized that they didn’t really feel the same way that they had at the beginning. Derek wrote “One Thing” about her, and they parted ways. It was the best interview he’d ever had, and the only romantic venture that ended so amicably.

\------  
\-----------

 

_[present]_

“Who’s the song about?” Stiles asks one day before the show. Derek looked up at Stiles who was coiling a cord and not even looking at him. They’re waiting for Deaton to finish chewing out the venue’s tech director for the mess of lights pointing every which direction above the stage. The sound check was done, they had about two hours before the show, and Derek had JUST been thinking about running out to get something to eat, if he could sneak past Lydia.

It took a second for Derek to realize what Stiles was asking, but then he panicked because the song was about STILES. Sure, there were no incrimiating lines, no names, but still. It wasn’t done, it wasn’t ready, HE wasn’t ready.

“What makes you say ‘who’? Who’s the song about?”

Stiles glances up and smiled. “I was obsessed with Halefire once, you know. I watched every single interview and listened to every single radio station that hosted you. Beacon Hills isn’t exact hopping with things to do.”

“I can’t believe I’ve made out with my stalker,” Derek said, under his breath. 

“Shut up. Anyway, there was that one interviewer who asked about ‘The Only Exception’ and you told a story about your friend. Said that all of your songs are about someone or yourself.”

“Most,” Derek corrected, remembering what Stiles was referencing. 

“Did you hook up with her? She’s wicked hot.”

Derek didn’t answer, feeling his face color at the memory.

“Oh my god, you DID!” Stiles shouted, putting down the new cable he’d had in his hand and climbing onto Derek, making Derek move his notebook - which he closed and put face down so Stiles couldn’t see it, hoping this conversation would distract from the song - before Stiles settled in his lap. 

“I - I did, yeah, okay, why are you excited about this?” Derek asked, automatically wrapping his hands around Stiles’ waist, who had taken to sitting in Derek’s lap as often as possible, which Derek tolerated - and absolutely loved, bony ass and all. 

“Derek. Honey.” Derek tried to stifle a smile at the pet name. “You’re the most closed off and shy person on this tour, and you know it.”

“So?”

Stiles sighed. “Sooooo, please tell me all your kinky secrets because I have had to use purely imagination and it’s getting...creative.” Stiles leaned into Derek and leered, trying to see down his v-neck shirt. Derek rolled his eyes, but tightened his hands on Stiles’ hips, which made Stiles release a surprised breath. Suddenly the air between them was charged. 

“Like what?” Derek asked, trying to keep his voice steady. Stiles bit his bottom lip, drawing Derek’s attention to his stupid pretty mouth.

“Like - do you like to…. dominate? Or be dominated?” 

Derek flicked his eyes back up to meet Stiles’, finding genuine curiosity. Most people expected Derek to be a dom-type, but..

“I - I like to be dominated,” Derek admitted, knowing his ears were burning. Stiles confirmed it with a glance and a pleased smile, drawing his hand down the shell of Derek’s ear. 

“Mm. What else?”

“Um. I like - um. To be tied up,” Derek mumbled, and Stiles pulled back.

“What?” He whispered.

“I like. I like being tied up,” Derek said, a little louder, and was rewarded with Stiles’ mouth dropping open and face darkening with blush. 

“Oh really,” Stiles said, voice dropping low and rolling his hips into Derek’s. 

“Stiles, we - we aren’t exactly in private,” Derek gasped. 

“Not a voyeur, though?” Stiles smiled mischievously, grinding down once more before slowly climbing off. “You feel like grabbing some food?”

Derek’s stomach picked that moment to grumble. Stiles chuckled, holding out a hand to pull Derek up from the couch. 

“Burger?” Derek asked, and Stiles kissed him on the cheek.

“Sure thing,” he said, before turning to walk out the door, leaving Derek with red ears and a flutter in his empty stomach.

**Author's Note:**

> Coming soon, my lovely readers! Kudos and comments help me thrive.
> 
> Song lyrics by Cage the Elephant; "Cigarette Daydreams"


End file.
